


Strange Phrases

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Humanstuck, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Record shop, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A day of celebration, congratulations, and nonchalant sibling spats is cut short by an encounter with Karkat, the new employee at Dave's favourite record shop.Dave thinks they could get along just fine. The only problem is - they've met once, and somehow Karkat already hates him. Quite passionately, actually.





	Strange Phrases

**Author's Note:**

> ooh i can already tell this is gonna get angsty  
> cute gays by the way  
> lots of them  
> the next chapter should be longer  
> fingers crossed

Sipping his coffee again, Dave rests his arms nonchalantly on the clear kitchen surface. He puts his mug down, sliding his hand over the counter. He breathes out, a nervous glow to his cheeks, and he slides his sunglasses off from his face, folding the arms and putting them down. Sunlight is beginning to fade outside, the moon rising, and he flushes. He rubs his hands together in contained excitement.

“Six million, hm? A real achievement, I should commend you.” His roommate stands in the doorway, lazy in posture and clothes choice.

Dave smirks, ignoring her statement. “Someone looks tired,” he observes.

“Really? Perhaps I have been up all night writing erotic fanfiction about my brother and his escapades.”

“Again? Jesus, Rose, never would’ve guessed it.”

She gives him a look stained endearment and moves over to the cupboards. With a casual flair, she opens one, scanning its contents absent-mindedly. “I _am_ serious, though. Congratulations are in order,” she says, eyes fixed on the crap on their shelves.

“I guess, yeah. I’ve been pretty psyched all afternoon, actually. I check it couple hours ago and _bam_ six million subs. I’ve almost lost my cool kid face,” he pauses, sitting on one of the stools arranged around the counter, “almost. It’s crazy. Like, wow. It was basically yesterday when I was a YouTube toddler, running around on hot monkey feet and throwing videos in trash cans here and there, bins filled with monkey faeces from the rear end of the internet, a bunch of shitty vlogs and game reviews, and tens of shittier subscribers with their pitchforks raised and their greedy asses the paramount of all things internet Neanderthalien. Einstein be shitting bricks right about now because this deduction is fuckin’ sound.”

Rose smiles. “You are a strange, strange young man. You have coffee?”

Dave nods, pointing at his mug. “Half empty.”

“Pessimist.”

“Suck it.”

Rose has pulled a book out from god knows where, having left the kettle on to boil. The book looks new, an oddity for her. Her hand runs along its spine and she turns the page.

“Is it another wizard book? Because those are whack. I mean, seriously, how do you even stomach that shit? ‘Interdimensional Wizards of Waverly Let’s-be-gay-guys-with-wands’, I mean.”

Rose smirks. “I ‘stomach’ it well enough to write lengthy reviews on its contents. I suppose that means I ‘stomach’ it pretty well.”

Dave takes another sip from his mug, stretching his shoulders out and leaning over the counter. “The only reviews I read are the ones Dunkin’ Donuts customers un-ironically post on Yelp, because that shit is beautiful.”

With a sigh, Rose turns a page again, waving her hand dismissively at her brother. “Go and please your fans.”

“I’m too fuckin’ pumped to be coherent ATM.”

“Dave, _livestream_ ,” she commands.

“Piss off and let me do things at my own pace. A man needs his highs to himself sometimes, you know?”

“Maybe we should discuss what your hobby of Yelp scrolling says about your subconscious worries of inadequacy and loneliness,” Rose replies curtly, sneering.

Hands raised in surrender, Dave stands and says, “I’m fucking bolting, thanks,” turning and shuffling out of the kitchen in a nervous hurry. Rose shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips again. Her fingers trace the creases in the book’s already worn pages, and she lifts her head. Biting the inside of her cheek, she lets her smile take form. A genuine smile with no malicious twitches or snarky curves. She is so proud of herself, and of her brother. Dave has grown up well, under her strict twin guidance, of course. If only he had matured as much as she had.

 

Dave sets up his webcam, internally bubbling. Without a moment of hesitation, he posts his announcement on twitter and goes live.

“Sup guys, just finished my daily coffee talk with Sis,” he says, grinning. “Wow, hey, this chat box is going fucking insane. No need to explode, guys, I’m here.” He waits a few moments, yawning. “Should I post a video tomorrow? I feel like I need to thank you guys, but I don’t think a livestream is the right place to do it. Not authentic enough, you know? Basically, let’s just forget this six mil thing ever happened. Until tomorrow. Then we can dive through YouTube – like youngsters, shovelling grass into wheelbarrows with their grimy little hands and plodding around –  and be like ‘Yo, the hell is this? Six mil? Who would’ve known.’ Anyway, that’s it for now. No new songs yet, but I have this sweet photo I took at my favourite park,” he brandishes a newly developed photograph of a park bench sitting by a tree, “I’m thinking of filtering it to Instagram. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be my new profile pic.”

He looks at his laptop screen. “Damn, guys. Sorry to cut this short at a meagre minute or two, but I just popped in here for a sec. This isn’t livestream day; in case you’ve forgotten. Spam me with asks if you feel like it, I’ll be on tumblr for a while.”

With a quick salute, Dave exits the livestream and closes the tab. He logs in to his private tumblr (where he won’t be bombarded with mindless bullshit) and scrolls through some mindless bullshit. He’s been planning on making friends for a while, and has been shamelessly stalking some guy’s meme page. It’s hilarious, and his genuinely pissed off captions never fail to make Dave crack a smile. It seems like they could get along, but, weirdly, Dave doesn’t feel confident enough to internet-approach him.

He isn’t entirely sure why he wants to make new friends when he has millions of people who look up to him. Perhaps it’s all a little too much for a twenty-three-year-old man in shades. Maybe he just needs a break. From fame, from loneliness, from missing John.

He should have moved on by now. The friendship began to tear itself apart as soon as John met Vriska, and things only got worse from there. Why did he discard five years of connection over a few disagreements? _Why_ did he feel the need to leave Dave as soon as they got to college? To block him, change his phone number, and move on without him? Losing his best friend was one of the realest and most depressing moments of his life, and as much as Dave hates to admit it, it hurts. It hurts a lot.

Tumblr suddenly doesn’t seem distracting enough. He needs a break. He needs a KitKat. A KitKat, and maybe a new record.

Pushing his chair away from the desk, Dave meanders over to the coat pegs on his wall, slipping a navy hoodie over his t-shirt and zipping it up to about half way. He’s wearing his favourite t-shirt: that really fitting one, with the artsy picture of the New York City skyline printed on the front. It outlines his best features, leaving little to the imagination, but with a loose fitting hoodie thrown on top, he looks flattering without any effort. The material is a little scratchy, but through months of overuse, Dave has grown used to it. The design is monochrome, but the shirt is that kind of speckled black that blends in with the darker edges of the print. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror on the wall, Dave adjusts his shades.

“Stop fussing, it’s as good as you’re going to get it.”

Dave turns to see his sister the hallway, disinterested, readjusting a painting. He grunts, tying his shoes and pushing past her.

“Love you, Dave,” she says, perfectly insincere.

“Love you too, Rose,” Dave says, just as cold.

He shuts the door behind him, the autumn wind rushing by him. He isn’t sure if he likes autumn. On the one hand, he adores the themed lattes. On the other, he really doesn’t like fireworks. It’s a pretty mediocre month, in his opinion. The day is a cold one, and he shivers.  His boots crunch on the dry leaves littering the ground as he walks on the pavement. His breath is measured and deep, and his pace slows to match. His movements come in rhythm. One, two, one, two. In, out, in, out. It’s calming.

Moving steadily along, he registers street names and strides through the quiet music of the streets. So close to warmth. So damn close.

 

Hand wrapped around the handle, the metal cooling and rough, he opens the door to the record shop. The bell rings, and the employee behind the counter turns the page of her magazine, her back to Dave as she leans against the reception desk. She sounds preoccupied when she speaks, turning slowly to greet her customer. “Hello, welcome to Disc Jockey- Oh, _Dave!_ Fancy having you pop in! What brings you here on this fine evening, an hour from closing time? I thought you’d _never_ come!”

Dave smirks, strolling over to the desk, matching the employee’s position. He crosses his arms on the surface of the counter, bending over and making eye contact with her. “I was as bored as that cat playing chopsticks with chopsticks must have been during editing, my little paws raised in a silent surrender to all things internet fame.”

She snorts. “You wish.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dave continues. “I was also scrambling for some new beats. Got anything special for me, Terezi?”

“You _wish_ ,” she repeats.

“Thought so. Helpful as always,” Dave walks around the counter, pulling one of the two seats out from underneath and sitting opposite from Terezi. She gives him a look of fake contempt, grinning wildly.

“The new employee started today. Huzzah for not being a total loner anymore, am I right? Dunno what to say about him, to be honest. He’s not the quietest of company, and he’s a _complete_ grump.”

“Sounds like a blast. Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Be prepared, because I doubt he’ll share the same _excitement_ you do. Unless he’s, like, a die hard fan? Not of the movie, but of you.Don’t think I get that vibe from him, though.”

As Dave prepares to answer with some unspeakably witty remark about the struggles of fame, Terezi slaps him on the arm and giggles. “Don’t turn too quick, _but_ a certain someone has just emerged carrying two boxes worth of bullshit vintage records. He’s at the other side of the shop.”

Dave turns to inspect the young man. He’s stretching to lay records out on a high shelf. Terezi gives Dave a poke of approval, and the blond approaches with a relatively suave demeanour. Moving to stand next to the employee, Dave takes the records from his hands and lays them out effortlessly. He turns, grinning, to see the employee staring with his mouth agape. “Hey, short stuff. See something you like?” Dave crosses his arms, nonchalant.

The young man stares for a second. He looks Dave up and down cautiously, and _very_ slowly, his look of bewilderment shifts to one of passionate rage.

“Oh,” he growls, blowing a loose strand of hair away from his eyes. Giving Dave one last glance, he dashes off and through the curtains and into the staff-only section. Dave is left standing, arms crossed, alone save the girl behind the counter, laughing her ass off. Not literally. It’s a pretty strange phrase, actually.

Dave is very, very confused.


End file.
